Nicola (Revised)

The next room was similar to the one she had just left. A young woman was sitting on the divan, her legs drawn up against her chest, exposing her cunt to an bald, elderly gentleman who was lapping at her juices, his cock was surprisingly hard and swayed with his exertions. A generously proportioned lady with a soft maternal face was clutching a young boy to her large bosoms, cooing to him as he sucked hard on her nipples. Beneath the boy, and between his legs was a strong black man sucking the boy's cock and fingering his anus. Near the door two masked women were kissing passionately, they had smeared each other's bodies with oil and foodstuffs and wine and were sliding up and down, their arms, and legs and knees intertwined. Nicola was trembling with excitement and frustration.

"There he is!" exclaimed Mrs Townsend.

On the divan the medieval hangman with the hairy belly was stretched out. A young red headed woman was playing with his balls and pulling on his hard cock.

"Thankyou, Robyn, you're a real sweetie," said Mrs Townsend. Silently, the redhead slipped away. With a flick of her hand, Mrs Townsend signalled to someone to change the music to slow rhythmic romantic dance music.

"Executioner meet your new partner. Why don't you two dance?"

"Merci madame," said Nicola, slipping into her role again.

The hangman pulled himself up from the divan and smiled. His hard cock jutted out awkwardly as he moved towards Nicola. Very gently he leant forward and kissed her softly on the lips, then both cheeks. His large hands found her waist and pulled her closer, then moved up to her bodice and carefully and confidently pulled her dress down to expose her breasts. The man kissed her again then bent over and licked both nipples and pecked on the beauty spot on the swell of her breast. Deftly, his hands moved down and eased her gown to the floor. Nicola stepped out of the crumpled pile and stood before him, naked except for her white stockings and stilettos.

He took her into his arms and with a little bob, he lowered himself so his fat cock slid between her legs, nestling perfectly along her moist slit. He embraced her closely, her breasts crushed against his wide hairy chest and pleasingly round belly. They began to sway to the slow beat of the music, his cock sliding in time with their movements along the unfolded groove of her cunt. Nicola reached up and hooked her arms around his neck, breathing in his musky cologne.

His strong arms caressed her skin and slid down under her buttocks and effortlessly lifted her up. He wrapped her legs around his back. Her cunt was completely exposed to his lifting cock. He lowered her slowly, the head of his penis butting into her welcoming wetness.

"Oh yessss," hissed Nicola, "Oh yes please..."

The man gradually relaxed his hold and she slowly sank onto his rigid shaft. She gripped his neck tightly, revelling in the fullness of the penetration. Her lips and mouth found his neck and she kissed and sucked his skin. Her legs locked around the small of his back, and she started her rhythmic movements up and down the entire length of his cock. The alcohol, the marijuana, the extremes of sexuality and the music and had tuned her body for this moment. Her nerve-endings were afire. She imagined her vagina was independently grabbing at his cock, massaging its length. Her nipples scraped against his chest and sent shocks of electricity through her spine.

"Aaah! M'mselle is so good," whispered the man into her ear.

"Oh M'sieur. I am yours. You may do as milord pleases," replied Nicola breathlessly, desperately trying to stay in character.

They both heard peals of ribald laughter in the next room and realised that except for two or three couples writhing on the floor, they were alone. Dimly, Nicola heard someone call that there were only a few minutes to go. The momentary puzzlement left her when he relaxed his grip and let her ride down completely onto his thick spongy pole, utterly filling her and nudging her cervix. She gasped partly in pain but more at the shocking enjoyment.

"Is my little girl okay?" asked the man, genuine concern in his voice.

Nicola's heart skipped a beat. The familiarity of 'My little girl' echoed somewhere in her mind.

"Oui, monsieur, you give me pleasure."

They heard distant chimes above the chatter. A brief pause in the general hubub, then howls of laughter and squeals and shouts. It was 12 o'clock and time for the unmasking. There were more bellows and shrieks. A woman's voice moaned, "Oh god no, I was making love to my own husband!" followed by uproar.

The realisation that she was now fucking a complete stranger and in public triggered a shock of a little orgasm in Nicola. She mewled and groaned into the man's neck and pushed down hard onto his cock as far as it would go.

He lifted her up with his powerful hands and the friction sent further waves through her. Her legs locked tighter, knowing that she was about to lose control. Her muscles tightened in her tummy, and her vagina spasmed. She was being lifted up and plunged down repeatedly, the man's cock was no longer warm and spongy but steel-hard and angry. His breath was rasping.

Nicola found his lips and kissed him, frantic with desire. Her tongue mashed against his, washing his teeth in saliva, exploring him, letting his tongue chase hers filling her mouth just as his cock was filling her cunt. They were both groaning and pawing at each other's flesh, hurting each other, pinching and grabbing.

Although her eyes were tightly shut, anticipating a shattering orgasm, Nicola became aware of a movement beside her. She opened her eyes - it was the smiling Mrs Townsend.

She rested a hand on Nicola's back riding her up and down, feeling her knotted back muscles. Her other hand moved to the back of the hangman's hood and she skilfully undid the strings and eased it from his head.

"What a sexy rogue you are, George Jensen, and what exquisite taste you have in young women."

Nicola's mind and body separated. For a fleeting moment madness gripped her. The world spun, cold sweat poured from her body. Her father! Her daddy! She was being fucked by....her reason refused to let her understand. A dream! Drugs! It was not possible.

Her father's sweaty, reddening face was in front of her. His strong hands were gripping her buttocks. His cock was........From deep within her soul, from the bowels of her being, a low agonised moan erupted from Nicola's throat.

And Mrs Townsend continued smiling, still urging her body to move up and down, up and down on the delicious fat cock she was riding.

Her body and mind. Panic and revulsion and fear swept through her one after the other. But her body yearned so much for the sweet release. Electricity tripped through veins more powerfully than any drug. Animal lust focussed only on her clit and the pulsing walls of her cunt.

The face in front of her. Handsome, kind, gentle, trusting daddy. Fucking his daughter. Not knowing it. Thrusting insistently into his little girl. Cum boiling in him, his seething seed bursting to be loose. Nicola's groan changed and a noiseless shriek shook the very essence of her spirit. Incest!

Tears of shame and confusion welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. Still her legs gripped his back, still she rode his cock. His thick, hard, beautiful cock.

Her father saw the turmoil, "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

Nicola could not speak, the salty tears streamed down her face, smudging her mascara making her look even more bruised and vulnerable. She nestled into his neck and hugged him closer.

Mrs Townsend had moved behind her, both hands on Nicola's hips, pulling her up, and pushing her down. She was breathing raggedly.

"Well, darling, ARE you okay?" she asked.

Nicola did not respond. She sank deeply onto her father's shaft and willed herself to stop this madness.

"Do you want to keep fucking him? Do you want him to stop?"

Mrs Townsend pushed onto Nicola's soft buttocks and shifted her a little. Just an inch. Then eased her down again. Urging the rhythm to start again. Nicola whimpered as she felt her body betray her. She used her legs to lever herself higher and allowed Mrs Townsend to pull her down again. Nicola tried to convince herself she was fighting it.

Mrs Townsend leaned into Nicola's back, her lips pressed up against her ear. "I will help you darling," she whispered. Seductive kindness and gentleness. She pushed Nicola again, this time further up her father's iron cock and held her there, then let her fall. Nicola sighed and shuddered. Again Mrs Townsend helped her, easing her higher, letting her fall. The next time it was hardly necessary, Nicola lifted herself up and hovered on her father's cock, and lifted herself higher so his head almost left her, then she slowly let herself go again. Mrs Townsend replaced her own hands with those of George.

"I think she's fine now, I think she really wants it."

Nicola entwined her fingers in her father's hair and braced herself against his body. Despite her turmoil and her tears and the panic, her body had dammed a wave of searing, insistent energy. Blood pumped through her cunt, the muscles pulsed of their own accord. Goosebumps puckered her hardened nipples. Nicola leaned back and through her tears she saw her sweet, strong father's face contorted with anxiety and lust.

"Are you going to fuck him now?" persisted Mrs Townsend.

Nicola nodded. A tear loosed itself and burned her breast.

"Are you going to let his hard cock plunge into your cunt?" hissed Mrs Townsend.

Nicola whimpered and rested her head against her father's chest, nuzzling into his neck. Her resolve was exhausted. Sweet surrender, sweet release.

"His fat cock is in your tight cunt," sang Mrs Townsend softly, "and it feels so nice, so right."

George was in control now. His own needs had to be met. The frothing cum was churning in his balls, his cock reaching out, stretching into her tight cunt.

Mrs Townsend leaned even closer to Nicola's ear and in the quietest whisper said, "He's going to fuck his little girl. His big fat cock is in your cunt, and you are enjoying it. You want to feel his cock pump into you. You want his cum."

Nicola trembled and little quivers rippled her body. Wracking sobs shook her shoulders. She climbed closer into the wet warmth of her father's body, hugging him. Loving him.

"Yes, I want it."

"What do you want, dear?"

"I want his cock," she mumbled into her daddy's chest, spittle drooling from her mouth.

"What else do you want, dear?" Mrs Townsend's voice was caring, even maternal.

"I want his cum inside me", sobbed Nicola.

Somewhere inside her demons had released themselves, dark and forbidden desires came to the surface.

"Ooooh!" cried Nicola as a spasm of delight flashed in her cunt. It was more than the frenetic pumping of the cock now, more than the luscious feel of the penetrating shaft. It was the idea. The taboo. Incest. It WAS her father, not a stranger, it WAS her sweet daddy fucking her. He filled her. His cock was jamming into her. Her daddy was going to cum inside his little girl.

"Aahhhh! Oh please god, yes! I want his cum inside me," she shouted.

The wave was releasing itself. She had no control. Her cunt relaxed and tightened and gripped and somewhere deep inside her something broke and filled her with unimaginable sensations. Her brain turned colours into sounds and sounds into sweeping emotions of desire and release and love and forgiveness and welcome. Nicola clawed her father's back, ripping his skin with her nails. Her legs stiffened. A great tremor ripped through her body.

"Yes! YES!" said Mrs Townsend, her eyes ablaze, "I know how it feels dear. I KNOW. Oh sweet jesus it's so good isn't it!"

Nicola nodded into her father's neck. She was nearly spent. He had to hold her entirely by himself now. He fucked into the limp body, teeth gritted, eyes clenched. His cock so taut it hurt him. George could not explain his feelings. Something about the smell, something about her vulnerability, he seemed to feel love come flooding from the young woman's twitching, trembling body.

"Oh he's going to do it!" beamed Mrs Townsend, "His cum is going to stream into you. His seed will be in your womb."

"AAARGH! YES!" yelled Nicola, "OH GOD YES!"

He heaved furiously into Nicola, cum roped out of him and washed the walls of her cunt. Long spurts of intense pleasure followed pulsing thrusts of his hips. His violence frightened him, the urgency and delirium overwhelmed him. His knees gave away and they sank to the floor, Nicola's legs unlocking and spread wide, letting her father take her completely. His weight was crushing and comforting. She felt his sperm in her. She felt her cunt relish and absorb the thick life-giving cum. She was on another plane of acceptance and understanding.

Mrs Townsend brushed away a strand of sweat-soaked hair and smiled. She, too, had tears in her eyes.

"Thankyou", was all Nicola could say to her.

@------@------@------@

Nicola lay in bed for a long, long time the next morning. The warm autumn sun streamed into her room. Her body ached deliciously. There were bruises on her arms and her lips were tender. Everything was remembered with such clarity, but everything was surreal. She felt her puffy cunt and allowed the emotions and sensations wash over again. And he didn't even know it was her! She hugged herself and almost giggled. Even afterwards in the lazy lethargic aftermath when he had kissed her long and deeply and gently, and plucked at her nipples and whispered sweet endearments, he didn't know he had just fucked his little girl!

Nicola sprang out of bed. She had never felt so alive. She took a hand mirror and checked her face again for any signs of the thick makeup. It had taken ages to paste on, and almost as long to scrub off last night. Thank god daddy stayed on for drinks she thought. She had taken particular care to hide her gown and stockings and shoes. She examined herself in the mirror, holding it close. She was completely clean. She smiled. Clean!! This time she did giggle. Incest girl. Father fucker. The words were meaningless and at the same time wonderfully, miraculously true. It was a secret she could nurse for the rest of her life.

She skipped down to the kitchen where her father was hunched over the newspaper. Only twenty-four hours ago it was like this, thought Nicola.

"Hello tubby", she called.

George grunted.

She had her back to him as she prepared her breakfast.

"Did you have a good time at the Club last night, daddy?" She was smiling broadly, looking out the window onto the yard.

"Yes," said George, "Yes, it was very good. And your party?"

He turned a page of his paper.

"The best," she said, leaning over to the table to get some butter.

She was ravenously hungry and fussed over her cereal and toast, cutting up some fruit and humming tunelessly.

When she looked up, her father had gone.

Puzzled, she looked down the hallway and peered into the lounge. He was no-where to be seen. She picked up the newspaper and read for a while.

She took the dishes to the sink and looked into the bright blue sky and watched a pretty bird flitting to and fro. She followed it from branch to branch and then onto the garden table, where her father was sitting perfectly still. His bright pyjamas were incongruously colourful against the dark green lawn.

She shrugged, and went to change. She was going shopping.

What Nicola hadn't known was that she had not been quite as careful as she had thought.

When she had reached over the butter, George had glanced up. His eyes appreciated the deep cleavage of his daughter's breasts in an objective, aesthetic, paternal sort of way.

And then a stab of lightning had pierced his heart. Blood drained from his face. His forehead and chest immediately bathed in sweat. While Nicola busied herself with breakfast all his willpower was needed to move his legs, straighten them, tell them to walk away. He wanted to faint, to collapse into a ball. To weep.

When he looked at the smooth roundness, the sweet tanned swelling of his daughter's breast he saw the beauty spot which had been so carefully and indelibly drawn, but had been forgotten about.

Mademoiselle's beauty spot.

@-----------@------------@-------------

When Nicola returned that afternoon the house was empty.

She found her father still sitting in the chair on the lawn, bathed in the golden late afternoon sunshine. He was dressed in gardening clothes, but his tools lay unused beside him, and his hands were clean. He half-turned his head as he heard Nicola step down the outside stairs and walk softly across the grass. Nicola realised he was troubled.

"Is something wrong, Daddy?"

There was a long silence. George Jensen stared vacantly into the distant sky.

"It's....a little difficult to explain, Nicola. You know in our family we have tried to be open with each other...," his throat caught. "We've never held secrets too close to the .... breast...." The word seemed deliberately chosen. Nicola's heart skipped. She eased herself into a seat beside her father. She was confused and a little afraid by his strange demeanour and awkward words. A dog barked distantly. There was warm rustle of wind which shimmered across Nicola's low-cut summer dress. Breast? In wasn't a word he would use carelessly.

She looked down and saw the forgotten beauty spot. Despite several showers, it still showed clearly. The one her father had been so attracted to the night before...could well have seen that morning...she paled.

What is he saying?, she thought, on the verge of panic. Surely he must realise I didn't know.... Her heart was fluttering uncontrollably. Did he know it was me all along?

She looked up. He did not meet her gaze, but continued. "The party I went to last night...I met a most incredible young woman...French, I think, and dressed like an old-time courtesan...French...yes..." He paused, "I don't suppose you'd know her name."

Nicola took a breath. Is he playing a game with me? Is he being cruel? But that wasn't like her father, even when he was angry or upset he never intentionally hurt her. Her mind wrestled with possibilities. He knows it was me, her mind screamed, why doesn't he say so? She opened her mouth to broach the subject openly. Confess. Explain. But there was something about her father's distant nervousness. He wasn't angry. He was somehow vulnerable.

"I think...the woman you're talking about is a friend of Donna Townsend," she said quietly.

George Jensen shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat. He remained looking somewhere into the middle distance. The wind had died away, and there was only silence.

"Yes, that makes sense. She and Donna came there together, and Melanie, umm, Donna's mother introduced us."

"If you like, I could ask Donna...maybe get you a name?"

"No...no...", George said a little too quickly, "I'm not looking for her name."

Nicola relaxed further. It is a game, but he's not being cruel. She leaned forward slightly, almost conspiratorially. Her mind raced. We're politely pretending it was someone else, and that's the way Daddy wants it.

"You said...you...had a good time, Daddy?"

"I certainly enjoyed her company, and I hope she enjoyed mine," said George, his voice almost a whisper.

"I'm...quite sure she did, Daddy. I'm certain she really did like your company. I told you yesterday lots of women admire you. They...they think you're gorgeous."

They sat motionless in the fading light. Then George took a deep breath, glanced at his daughter, and looked away again.

"It's true, the flesh is weak, Nicola. I can't help wondering if there's some place I might meet her again. Somewhere well away from Melanie Townsend and her meddlesome matchmaking." Nicola stopped breathing. She could barely believe what she was hearing. He was offering much more than a meeting. Nicola was afraid to hesitate, lest he misinterpret her.